


It won’t flower like it did last spring

by Naphyla



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: I Don't Even Know, Literally don't even know what I just wrote, M/M, Warning for OOCness, You Have Been Warned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-20
Updated: 2014-03-20
Packaged: 2018-01-16 09:12:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1341514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Naphyla/pseuds/Naphyla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It won’t flower like it did last spring, but it just means we have to wait and see.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It won’t flower like it did last spring

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jenz](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Jenz).



> After years of nudging, I've finally completed my first birthday fic. It's pretty short, but frankly I'm pretty impressed that I managed to squeeze 700 decent words down. This is for you Jenz ;D
> 
> Some background to help you orient. This story takes place in an alternate universe in which Lucius was confined in Azkaban for much longer than in the books, and it breaks him. Let's just say he isn't the same person once he's gotten out (warning: expect OOC-ness). 
> 
> The title of this fic comes from the lyrics to "Another Love" by Tom Odell.
> 
> Without further ado, enjoy!

“The weather has been getting warmer.”

“Yes,” I replied, my gaze still fixed to the meadow afar, barren only weeks ago but was now coated green from the first seeds of spring. It’s a wonder how quickly time seemed to pass.

I sensed – rather than heard – the young man moving to stand next to me. I offered him a seat on the bench next to mine, but as always, he declined politely, choosing to stand next to me with his hands folded neatly behind his back. I did not object.

When the sun began to set, he insisted that we go inside. I was reluctant, even though it was getting too cold to stay in the field, but I agreed eventually.

He smiled and kissed my hair.

*

The house we lived in was big, but empty. Lifeless, almost. Like a shrivelled shell stripped bare of its former glories – the tell-tale dips in the carpet where a piece of furniture used to be; the outline of empty frames plastered against the wall where the sun had not made its mark.

“They were meant to go,” he said when he caught me staring. He smiled, but his eyes were sad. I pretended not to notice.

I didn’t know why his words pained me so.

*

We ate in agreeable silence, sitting at nearly opposite ends of the table.

“Why must you sit so far away?” I fussed once.

He blinked, seemingly surprised by the break in silence. “Old habits, I suppose” he replied after a moment, and returned to his supper.

He did not sit any closer the next day.

*

Sleep was a difficult thing. I battled with my own fatigue even after being ushered to bed. It was always a futile effort, but I dreaded the shapeless forms that lurked behind my closed lids; shadows that have engraved fear deep in my bones. Sometimes, I woke, screaming and thrashing. On those nights, the young man would sit by my bed side, planting kisses on my hands and cheeks.

But tonight, I dreamed a different dream. It was a dream about a boy with cream blonde hair, who liked to run and laugh and play in the fields. But more than anything, he liked to fly with his broomstick. I watched him practice from the bench. What he seemed to earn in struggles, he made up with his happy giggles. And whenever he managed a new trick, my chest swelled with pride.

Until he fell.

I ran towards the boy and cradled his tear-streaked face with trembling hands, peppering his hair with urgent kisses.

*

It was nearly noon when I woke the next day. I wandered into the drawing room, where I always found him, but he wasn’t there. I thought he’d have gone out to purchase supplies as he tended to do a few times every month. I looked out the window at the clear sky, and decided to wait for him out in the gardens. He'd always find me.

So I waited, past lunch time, then tea time. I watched dusk befall, shivering in my thin cotton shirt, but still I waited. It was long past midnight when the thought hit me.

Maybe he wasn’t coming back.

The young man, who takes me out of that bleak, cold cage of hell, and gives me a home to go back to. Who eats in silence, and soothes with kisses. Who wordlessly accepts that I cannot remember my past, that I will never be the man that once was.

He is a companion.

And I never even asked for his name.

*

I don’t remember when I got up from the bench, but when I came to, I was drifting aimlessly across the gardens, listening to the rustling of trampled grass beneath my feet.

I cannot go back to the house, brimming with memories I know not of. It is not mine without him in it.

*

I heard someone calling from the distance.

As the first light of day emerged from the horizon, I saw a figure running. His cream blonde hair was caught in the wind, tangled where it used to be tame. He took me in his shaking arms, tears still streaking down his panicked face. “Don’t leave me,” he whispered, mirroring my thoughts. “Don’t ever leave me again.”

So I placated him the only way I knew how, and planted a kiss, gently above his brows.

**Author's Note:**

> There are lots of ambiguities left unexplained, but somehow it felt right to leave them that way. This fic may have been a little disorienting to read, partly to reflect Lucius' state of mind. Not 100% happy with the writing, but I think I managed to put down everything I wanted to express in this fic. Sorry if people were left feeling unsatisfied/unhappy.


End file.
